Uncle Ricky
by Alexis Kent
Summary: Richard Woolsey was not a coward. No task was too daunting for him; behind those unassuming spectacles and snappy gray suit was the heart of a lion! Tag for Broken Ties


(( **Author's Note: **First off, thanks for reading! This is my first piece of fanfiction for Stargate: Atlantis, so I hope you'll enjoy. I'm really loving the character of Woolsey so far in Season Five, so I thought he deserved his own little story. Like it? Love it? Hate it? Please review and let me know why! ))

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If there was one thing Richard Woolsey had learned since coming to the Pegasus Galaxy, it was that life in Atlantis was unpredictable. Today was the perfect example. One moment, he was enjoying a nice, brisk stroll through the city. The next, Teyla had appeared out of seemingly nowhere, plunked a baby in his arms, and darted off with Colonel Sheppard. There was no, "May I, Mister Woolsey?" or "Could you _please_ be so kind, Mister Woolsey?"

Woolsey had never pretended to be good with young children. Once they were old enough to understand the importance of money and how to say "please" and "thank you," he could get along with them well enough. But the little ones! The little ones with their smelly diapers and red faces were more alien to him than half the creatures he had met in the Pegasus Galaxy. More alien, more terrifying.

Richard Woolsey, however, was not a coward. No task was too daunting for him; behind those unassuming spectacles and snappy gray suit was the heart of a lion!

This is what he told himself, at least, as he peered down at the wrinkled little face of Torren Emmagan. "Well!" he chirped, a bit too brightly. "Who have we here?"

The baby squawked furiously in response, reminding Woolsey that introductions could wait. The cafeteria! Yes, Torren was to be delivered to Kanaan in the cafeteria.

… Where was that, again?

Woolsey set off at a brisk pace, having absolutely no idea where he was going. Left, right, left again -- just _why _did the Ancients have to make such a confusing city, hm? Would it have hurt them to make a few maps of the place?

After a good twenty minutes of wandering the unusually empty hallways, Woolsey was more lost than ever. His shiny leather shoes were pinching him uncomfortably, Torren was a dead weight in his arms, and he began to have the nagging suspicion that it was time for the baby's diaper to be changed. Sighing, he lowered himself to the floor and stretched out his protesting legs.

"Uncle Ricky is going to take a little break, how is that?" asked Woolsey, his voice not _quite _as bright as he would have wished. "Then we'll find Daddy."

This was, apparently, not good enough for Torren, who answered with an ear-splitting wail. Wincing, Woolsey carefully shifted the baby in his arms and began to bounce him gently. He wasn't quite sure what good it would do, but he had seen Teyla do it many times as she paced the city.

Torren quieted down somewhat, though he still grumbled and squirmed occasionally. But even with his face scrunched up in protest, there was a certain something that was, well, _cute. _The little nose, the chubby cheeks, the light dusting of hair on his large head. Yes, he was a fine little man indeed.

And those eyes! Such fine, dark eyes… that seemed to be focused on Woolsey's glasses. Without warning, one of Torren's tiny fists lurched suddenly out of the mound of blankets to latch onto the glasses. He gave a surprisingly strong tug and cooed delightedly.

"None of that!" protested Woolsey, even as the spectacles went sliding down his nose. Plucking them away from Torren, he folded them and tucked them in his vest pocket. "I'll be needing those, thank you."

Torren's tiny mouth worked thoughtfully and his eyes darted about for a new prize: the older man's hand. Five tiny fingers curled around one of Woolsey's larger fingers. Woolsey laughed and attempted to pull away, but Torren's grip was firm. "Oh no!" he gasped, wiggling his finger. "He's got me!"

The gurgling sort of sound that came from the baby's throat _could _be interpreted as a happy sound, he decided. Encouraged, Woolsey gave a very wide smile and bounced Torren a little more. "Well, little man," he said, "I have a story for you. Once, there was a little dog named Roosevelt. He--"

"Where is Teyla?"

Startling at the quiet voice, Woolsey looked up to see Kanaan. The Athosian's face was passive, as always, though his brow was furrowed in concern. Reaching for Torren, Kanaan said, "She said she would meet me."

Woolsey rose to his feet and straightened his rumpled vest. "Teyla went with Sheppard and the others to find Ronon; they believe they have a lead. " After a brief hesitation, he gave a sheepish smile and added, "She wanted me to find you, but I seem to have gotten turned around a few times."

Kanaan did not return the smile, but nodded.

Uncomfortable silence fell until Woolsey took a step forward and lowered his voice, saying, "Teyla is a strong woman, Kanaan. She'll be alright."

"She is," answered the younger man simply. "It is that strength that makes me trust in whatever decision she will make."

"Yes, well…" Woolsey rocked back on his heels and searched the area for a more comfortable subject. Smooth walls, bright lights… and a tiny baby wrapped in blankets. "I've been making friends with your little bundle of joy."

"My what?"

"Torren."

Kanaan's blank expression gave way to a small smile as he nodded again. He tucked the blankets around the tiny form in his arms. "He is a wonderful child, but I am not sure if he considers me a friend yet."

On cue, a tiny cry came from the mass of blankets. Kanaan began pacing nervously, looking every inch the new father. "I never know what to do," he fretted, fussing over the blankets. "Teyla always--"

"He just wants his Uncle Ricky, doesn't he?" interrupted Woolsey, stepping forward with his arms outstretched. Kanaan surrendered the wailing Torren quickly.

Woolsey beamed down at the baby in his arms and settled back down on the floor. "Now, I was going to tell you a story, wasn't I?"

As Woolsey talked and talked all about his little Yorkie named Roosevelt, Torren's crying gradually abated. The little Emmagan seemed to be listening intently, his dark eyes fixed intently on Woolsey's face. And then, marvelously, his tiny lips curled up in a drooling, toothless grin.

That smile said very clearly that Uncle Ricky was, in fact, quite good with children.


End file.
